A Broken Nose
by ilovesunshine93
Summary: Sherlock just got punched by John after returning from the dead. Lonely and needing to treat his bleeding nose, he goes over to St. Bart's to seek Molly's help.


Sherlock stood at the edge of the pavement outside Angelo's, feeling the warm trickle of blood gradually blocking his nasal passage. He needed a tissue to stop the bleeding but remembered that he didn't have one. He stole a sideway glance at the lady standing beside him. She was slim, blonde and thirtyish – Mary Morstan, the soon to be wife of John. _Wife. _Sherlock felt a bit nauseated at the fact that John was getting married. Why would people want to imprison themselves in a domestic partnership? _How dull that must be._ He could see her stealing a sideway glance at him.

"Would you like a tissue, Mr Holmes?"

"Yes. Thank you." Sherlock took the tissue from her gratefully, anxious to mop up the blood that seemed to be unable to stop flowing. The blood was of course courtesy of John, who was furious that Sherlock had decided to spring back from the dead just when he had found the peace to move on from Sherlock's death.

"Mary!" a voice suddenly rang from across the street.

"Goodbye Mr Holmes." Mary said to Sherlock, walking briskly across to John, who had managed to flag a taxi.

"Goodbye." He could see her turning around to look at him, as if he were some sort of interesting exhibition. He was getting a bit tired of her curious stares and was quite relieved when the taxi drove off with her and John.

Standing at the edge of the pavement, Sherlock suddenly felt very alone. He wished that things could go back to the way things were but it was obviously impossible. _Sentiment. Oh how it always is a disadvantage, making one weak, _Sherlock thought bitterly.A sudden pain from his nose broke his train of thought. Deciding that he had better solve the issue of his bleeding nose first, Sherlock turned and started to walk down the cold street.

The lab was empty and silent, save for Molly Hooper. It was a Friday night and everyone seemed to have plans for the evening. Molly liked it this way. The silence helped her to think and she felt right at home. She was engrossed in her work, shifting test tubes around and adding chemicals to petri dishes. She carried a clipboard in her hands, dutifully taking down notes. A small frown formed on her face occasionally as she tried to deduce a result from her experiments.

"Why does this place not have a first aid kit?" a deep, bass voice commanded from the doorway.

Molly almost dropped her test tube in reaction to the sudden sound which broke the sacredness of the silence. She whipped around and saw a tall, lean figure striding into the lab, a tissue held to his clearly bleeding nose.

"Sherlock! Oh my god what happened to your nose?" Molly asked in amazement.

"I need a first aid kit." Sherlock repeated, completely ignoring her question.

_Typical Sherlock, _Molly thought. "We don't have one here. It's kept in IT upstairs."

Sherlock made a movement to leave the lab. He was getting frustrated with his bloody nose. He was having trouble breathing because of his blocked airway.

"No, sit down. I'll go." Molly told him, concern bubbling through her. She brushed past him quickly, throwing a worried glance at him as she left the lab.

Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to mop up more of the blood. _Thank god for Molly Hooper, _Sherlock thought. He knew that he never displayed obvious affection towards her but the truth is, he was fond of her and appreciated her deeply. She was much more enjoyable to be around with compared to the other pathologists, who were all idiots. He just never knew how to express that emotion properly, always resulting in her getting hurt. He was rightly shocked when he realised that she thought she didn't count. She did count – she had always counted. She was his friend and he liked her.

Sherlock opened his eyes and saw that Molly was executing some sort of experiment. Unable to control himself, he walked over to the test tubes and started reading her clipboard. Apparently, Molly was trying to ascertain what poisoned her victim. Interestingly, she hadn't been able to come to a conclusion despite testing for the five most common types of poison. Maybe-

"I told you to sit down." Molly's voice drifted softly from the lab door. She entered the lab, balancing a rather large first aid kid and a cup of steaming hot coffee. Sherlock caught a whiff of the coffee and knew that it was his favourite – black. Sudden warmth chorused through him in spite of himself. _She remembered._

"It's just a bleeding nose. I don't need to sit." Sherlock replied stubbornly.

Molly placed the kit on the table and handed him the coffee. Sherlock mumbled a thank you and took a sip. It was exactly the way he liked it, with two sugars.

"Well I can't take a look at your nose with you standing. You're too tall." Molly said, pushing him to the chair.

"I can tend to my own nose Molly. I just need to stop the bleeding."

"You might have a hairline fracture Sherlock. I need to take a look at it!"

"I don't have a fracture!" Sherlock countered petulantly.

Molly gave a large internal sigh. She swore that Sherlock could sometimes behave worse than a child. And yet for reasons unknown to her, she had fallen in love with this man. _Well, he could be charming when he wants to, _she admitted to herself. "You wouldn't know even if you had one. You didn't go to medical school."

Molly saw a moment of doubt cloud his face. She felt a hint of pride when she saw Sherlock relent, sitting on the chair obediently. Molly started to wipe the dried up blood away gently, slowing down whenever she saw Sherlock grimace in pain. She was rather amazed that he didn't struggle or complain – he sat there perfectly still like a stone statue. _He still manages to surprise me._ She was proud that her hands didn't shake in nervousness despite being so close to him. She could feel the heat emanating from his body and it took much will power to not give him a hug when she saw the blood trickling down his nose. It made him look so fragile and vulnerable. But his three words to her – You do count – had made her much more confident around him than she was before. Even though they were not romantically involved, she finally felt that she did matter to him and that was rather enough for now. He was Sherlock Holmes after all and romance was just not a word in his dictionary.

"I assume John didn't take too well to your returning?" Molly asked gently.

"Don't assume Molly. Deduce. It always leads to more concrete conclusions. But yes, it was John. How did you know it was John?" Sherlock's eyebrows lifted slightly in amazement. He didn't give any indication that he had met with John at all. Molly's slim fingers started to lightly prod his nose bridge, checking for signs of fracture. _Her fingers are cold. Quite cold. She must have been in the lab for at least three hours already, _Sherlock thought. _Odd, I thought normal people went out on Friday nights doing one of those date things._

"Because I would have punched you this hard too if I were him," Molly confessed sheepishly. "Why didn't you go back home? You'd have a first aid kid there."

"Back to 221B? I'd just give Mrs Hudson a fright. She almost got a heart attack when I turned up at the flat yesterday. Imagine if she saw me now."

A smile started to form on Molly's lips. She could easily picture Mrs Hudson changing from a frightened woman to a nagging over concerned mother, mollycoddling Sherlock. Sherlock felt his spirits lift ever so slightly when he saw her smile. It was sweet and pure, the type of smile to light up a room. Molly finished prodding his nose and concluded that it wasn't a fracture, but just a really bad bruise. "You'll be alright in a few days." She assured him.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Molly went over to the sinks to wash her hands. Sherlock looked at her intently, taking in her figure. He never realised that she had such a small stature – she was really quite fragile physically. He sighed internally. Despite trying not to, he had developed a soft spot for sweet and vulnerable people. Those were exactly the same traits that made him grow protective of Mrs Hudson and John.

"Shouldn't you be out on some date Molly?" Sherlock enquired curiously. "That's what normal people do, don't they? Socialise on Friday nights to make their lives more interesting. How dull."

"I've got work to finish so, no. And I've got no invitation to a date anyway." Molly ended a little sadly.

Sherlock looked at her and suddenly felt the pull of a bond between them. _Loneliness. _Deciding to change the subject, he walked over to the test tubes to examine the contents again. "Have you tested for fluphenazine hydrochloride? It's undetectable under normal circumstances and it's deadly for people diagnosed with CNS depression, which is obviously what your victim was suffering from, judging from your report."

"I already did earlier. Nothing. I can't find any trace of poison in the victim at all but all evidence points to him being poisoned," she replied in frustration. This was indeed a confusing case, and it was starting to unnerve her. It seemed simple and yet nothing was conclusive.

"May I?" Sherlock gestured to the clipboard.

Molly handed it over, grateful for a second pair of eyes. And it certainly didn't hurt that he had a brilliant mind. Maybe he would be able to detect something she couldn't. She saw a small frown creased between his pale blue eyes and knew that he was entering into his thinking mode, as she loved to call it. To her, this was when he was the most appealing. She could hear the engines whirring in his mind and the focus that was etched on his face made him appear so…sexy. Molly started to blush, realising that her thoughts had strayed to someplace embarrassing. _Oh god I should stop. But his eyes, and those lips…_

"I need to see the body Molly. Do you mind?" Sherlock asked, interrupting her fantasy.

"Of course, I'll just wheel them out. Are you sure you want to spend your Friday night in the morgue?" Molly finished somewhat lamely.

Sherlock looked at her in surprise. "Murder and a chemistry crisis? Oh, this is what I call a brilliant Friday night Molly!" he clapped his hands in glee, a wild look appearing in his eyes. Molly couldn't supress a smile. The way Sherlock put it was as if he were going to some interesting movie and a fantastic dinner afterwards.

Sherlock walked over to Molly, eyes blazing with purpose. He felt a fire burning in him; he felt alive. A case was what he needed to help him forget his conflict with John for the moment. _Thank god for Molly, _he thought again. He was just a few inches away from her. He wanted to express his gratitude but was afraid that his words might come out wrong. He bent down suddenly to plant a kiss on her cheek, seeing her blush from the corner of his eyes. "Shall we begin Molly?" he asked excitedly, looking ever so like a child on Christmas.

Molly stood by the table watching Sherlock walk towards the lab door, muttering some facts to himself. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself down before catching up with him. _Best Friday night in a while, _Molly thought happily, turning off the lab lights.


End file.
